


just one chance (just one breath)

by sensibleshroom



Category: Original Work, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jango Fett Open Seasons (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Child Abuse, Child Original Characters, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Jaster Mereel, Past Child Abuse, True Mandalorians (Star Wars), Whump, and an excuse to give them a better dad, don't be a bad dad, if you don't want your children adopted by a mandalorian, sorry - Freeform, this is just an excuse to feel better about treating my characters in my novel terribly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensibleshroom/pseuds/sensibleshroom
Summary: Mandalorians have a long history of adoption. It's ingrained into their very culture, their very creed. If a child needs help, you help that child, raise them, love them, when no one else will. It's one of the tenets of the Mandalorian faith, to love the children no one else will, to help the children that were left behind.Jaster Mereel may have gotten a little in over his head this time, though. Children were one thing, but superpowered children were... Well. He may not know what he's doing, but kids always need the same thing in the end: love, support, and food.Now, if only he can convince Jango that it's absolutely a good idea to adopt the three bloody, battered, redheaded children that were dropped in the middle of their camp.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett & Original Character(s), Jaster Mereel & Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW in this chapter for child abuse, injured and kidnapped children, and an abuser's intro POV.

Cassius Aiden had ignored the alarm that popped up on his phone of the house dropping in temperature. If Clemency was going to be destroying his house again with some ridiculous ‘training stint’ over break, so be it, it would be coming out of her allowance to fix. He’d also ignored it when the temperature alarm went on for far longer than necessary, and the sensors started reading extreme temperatures and water damage. Whatever she was doing, she had better leave her siblings out of it. Honor was getting unbearable enough to deal with, and Regal had a stringent schedule to keep with martial arts and schoolwork, and had no time to be grounded thanks to his older sister’s rebellious streak.

Honestly, he was more irritated with his wife for taking off to some weekend spa getaway. He had  _ work, _ and Clemency was fifteen, but leaving the kids at home with a fifteen year old for childcare for over four hours was generally frowned upon. If Anastasia hadn’t just  _ taken off, _ she wouldn’t be coming home to a destroyed house and construction as everything was fixed in the aftermath of whatever the  _ hell _ it was Clemency was doing.

He wasn’t getting any notifications from his children messaging him, so clearly they thought they could get away with whatever destruction Clemency was wreaking on his designer furniture. Honestly, these  _ damned _ kids. They  _ knew _ there were sensors.

It had been putting him in a bad mood through the last two hours of his scheduled patrol. The vein at his temple was throbbing by the end of it, thinking about  _ punishments _ and  _ grounding, _ or corporeal punishment with making Clemency run suicides, if she wanted to train so damned bad. More than a few criminals had been caught up in his bad temper, probably thrown around a little harder than they  _ should _ have been, singed a little  _ too _ much from his burning hot flames, and his hapless Guardlings had been giving him a wide, wide berth, because continuously checking the phone was  _ unprofessional _ and the news had likely captured him doing so  _ on camera, _ which was going to be a whole other thing to deal with. It wasn’t like he could say ‘my Guardian-in-training daughter was destroying my multi-million dollar home, but don’t worry, I was monitoring the situation from the other side of the city, and she will certainly not be so ignorant of property damage by the time she graduates’.

With as often as Anastasia went on her ‘weekend getaways’ when the girls were home from break, sometimes it felt like he was a single working parent. He was going to have to have one of the Guardlings on standby at his house by the end of this break.

Something petty in him wanted to draw out his shift a little longer, let them panic, try to clean up the damage before he got home, maybe even  _ wonder _ if he had noticed the notifications, if he was letting them think about what they did. But, Anastasia was out for the weekend, and had told him very clearly at the beginning of the day that her phone would be  _ off, _ and if the kids had any issues, he should try being a parent and  _ deal with them himself. _ Honor’s grades had been slipping, and Clemency was becoming irritating when she came home from school every day and stayed out in the yard until dinner, sometimes even skipping to train, and Anastasia’s temper had been fraying with Cassius over it.

So, with a general command that he would be filing his reports tomorrow and to forward any immediate paperwork that needed to be signed to his email so he could do it at home, he left, phone unlocked on the dash as he checked for any  _ new _ alerts from the sensors in the house, hoping to high heavens that Regal wasn’t going to try to flare up to melt whatever snow his sister left everywhere even faster. The house was flameproof as a  _ precaution, _ not as something to be used like a  _ commodity, _ and Regal had excellent control for a six-year-old, but Cassius wasn’t going to abide him abusing his power like his sister.

Clemency was going to make him go gray early, he was sure.

Every light in the damned house was on as he pulled up the driveway after the forty-five minute commute, and a lecture was filed away at the back of his mind. The fountain in front of the house was frozen, and one of the windows had been broken out from the inside. What the  _ hell _ had Clemency been doing? She was  _ fifteen years old, _ she  _ knew _ better.

Irritation mounting, he grabbed his phone and slammed the door after getting out of the car, stalking to the front door and jamming his keys in the knob.

Unlocked.  _ Another _ lecture. A hiss escaped his lips, and he pushed the door open.

The living room looked like a Clemency-shaped tornado had gone through it. Snow was melting on the chairs, the couch had been flipped over, the glass table was broken, and there was blood on the ground.

It was a strange moment, when irritation at your children rapidly shifted to horror, because there was  _ blood on his carpet _ and Clemency and Honor  _ both _ had phones, and would have  _ called _ him if there was an injury and someone needed to go to the hospital. They  _ knew _ Anastasia’s phone was off.

“Clemency!” He called, and the house was silent. A shove of his hand, and the door swung shut behind him. “Honor! Regal!”

There was no answer, and quick footsteps led him into the house.

“Clem!” He called, panic rising in his chest, because he had left before they even  _ woke up, _ he hadn’t even left with  _ clear instructions. _

There was slush everywhere, and blood splatter on a drift of snow blocking the stairwell, and he blasted it with a burst of flame to clear the way without even a thought. The door to Regal’s room was broken, awkwardly hanging off its hinges, and the window was open, with blood on the sill and golden metallic feathers on the floor. His  _ son’s _ feathers.

“Regal?” He shouted. “Clem! Honor!”

Nothing, not even a sound. He hadn’t gotten an intruder alarm, not even an alert that the system was disabled, and his children were  _ not answering him. _ Hurriedly opening the app for his security system, because he hadn’t even  _ thought about it, _ Clemency had started ripping his house apart for ‘urban training’ as soon as she made it  _ into _ Lightbringer Institute, he stared in horror at the blank screen with an error code reading across it.

The servers were down, and he was  _ supposed to be contacted _ when that happened.

“Clemency!” He shouted, running into the hall and sliding through more half melted snow. There was a broken vase on the floor, glass crunching under his feet, and Honor’s stickered laptop on the ground in two pieces, like someone had used it like a bludgeoning object. “Honor! Regal!”

They weren’t here. They were  _ not in his house. _ His children  _ were not home. _

He had been in this business for two decades now, a veteran in his field. But he had never been on the other side for it, and for a moment, his brain blanked out. Lists of what proper procedure was went out the window, because his  _ children were not home, _ and it looked like Clemency at the least had put up a fight so her siblings could  _ run, _ and hadn’t he told her she  _ couldn’t _ go into this field, didn’t have what it  _ took? _ He had. He had told her to listen to her mother, go to a nice finishing school, get into college and join a sorority, and she had just gone behind his back to take a test and forge his signature, pass the entrance exam for the best institute in the damned country with a time that broke his two-decade standing record out of sheer  _ spite, _ and she was  _ not here. _

His teenage daughters were  _ gone, _ his house was in  _ shambles, _ his six year old son was  _ not answering him, _ and there was blood on the window sill and a scent of charred flesh over the smell of freshly fallen snow.

Something started ringing, Honor’s ringtone, that obnoxious k-pop song he had told her to mute several times if she was going to insist on it once he knew what the lyrics meant, and he froze before tearing into her bedroom. Her bed was flipped over, framed posters knocked off the walls, blood on the corner of the dresser, and there was her phone, perfectly placed in the center of a desk he had never seen so clean, tidy and neat, pencils in the cup where they belonged, the Devil’s Ivy that took up every ounce of responsibility she had tilted to take in the fading rays of the sun, freshly watered, bluetooth speaker on its charger and notebooks neatly stacked on the corner, chair pushed in, clearly tidied by  _ someone else. _

Cassius lashed out to grab the ringing phone, some hindbrain reaction reminding him to turn on the recorder on his own cell phone as he swept up to answer the phone and set it to speaker.

A long silence stretched out, and someone on the other line took a shuddering breath.

“Cassius Aiden, callsign Justitius,” a thickly modulated voice that crackled with the software feeding it back said, and Cassius set both phones on the desk.

“Where are my  _ fucking kids? _ ” He spat, because his heart was just shy of too loud in his ears, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably, and there was a muffled noise, like a gagged scream.

“Where are  _ ours? _ ” The person countered, and Cassius’s blood ran cold, because if this was  _ vengeance, _ not  _ leverage, _ then…

“If I arrested your  _ children, _ then that meant they were violently  _ breaking the law, _ in public, in the view of  _ everyone, _ and they are  _ respons--- _ ”

“And what about the victims you don’t save, Justitius?” The person interrupted, and Cassius froze. “What about the innocent bystanders that get caught in your  _ fight, _ because the  _ number one Guardian _ in the whole of the United States can’t see beyond the target?”

A silence spilled out, and Cassius’s face twitched, his eye throbbing, the vein pulsing under his skin.

“My children have  _ nothing _ to do with my work.  _ Where are they? _ ”

“You can see them at the warehouse on West Fiftieth and Eleventh Avenue, Justitius. I’d recommend you hurry; you’re our star, but the show needs to go on with or without you.”

The line went dead, and Cassius stared down at the still recording app, his gut clenching and twisting. Hell’s Kitchen. The docks.

Protocols for this situation were running through his head. 911, so there was a note of it. Inform the Institute. Call for backup,  _ immediately. _ But his children were at the docks, and he had to move,  _ now. _

He would call his second, and they would make the calls while he got his  _ damned kids back. _

Two hours. He had gotten the alert  _ two hours ago, _ and hadn’t even checked the security app.  _ Goddammit. _ Anastasia was going to have his head, but her  _ phone was off. _ She had a six year old son, she couldn’t have her goddamn phone off.  _ Fuck. _ Why hadn’t he told her no?

_ His wife’s phone was off. She didn’t know, and he didn’t know who she was with. _

The spa. He’d tell Alexia to call the spa after making all the calls to tell her what was going on, and then hopefully by the time Anastasia got home, he’d have the kids safely home, or…

Or in the hospital.

He had to move, and move  _ now. _

* * *

Clemency woke slowly, wrists burning with discomfort as she blinked once, twice, ribs screaming with a fresh break, breath hard and labored, face aching from where she’d been pummeled, her head pounding in agony as she tried to figure out what…

It was cold, she registered. Very cold. She was barefoot, still in the yoga pants and old workout tee she hadn’t changed out of yet for the movies, and something heavy was in her lap. Her arms were aching, pulled over her head, and the metal pipe they were tied to was cold and wet. Groggily, she shook her head, brow furrowing and breaking up the crust of… something on her forehead, and there was a whimper next to her.

It took a second for Clemency to place that terrified whimper, and she forced her eyes to focus on her baby brother, a gag stuffed in his mouth with a bandana shoved between his teeth to keep it in place. Wide, terrified honey brown eyes stared up at her, and Clemency twisted, trying to call up a gust of snowy wind, but something violent overtook her, forcing her stomach to twist in nausea, and she gagged.

“That’ll stay uncomfortable, sweetheart,” a woman said, and Clemency froze, twisting her head to try to locate the origin of the voice. Her eyes landed on her little sister, similarly trussed up, a blossoming black eye and split lip, also gagged, with a purpling handprint on her arm and wide, terrified eyes staring at her.

“What did you do?” Clemency asked as she tried to twist to look around, bare feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor to no avail as she almost unseated the duffle bag on her lap.

“It’s just an ability inhibitor,” the woman said as footsteps echoed in the room, sensible Mary Janes clicking on the floor as she came around a corner. She was dressed like a mom you’d find at a PTA meeting, in a polo shirt and cuffed jeans, a small handbag slung over her shoulder, and she set it down on a desk across from them in the dim room, camera mounted on it and pointed directly at them. There was a speaker on the desk, hooked up to a phone, and the woman kicked off her shoes, swept graying brunette hair over her shoulder so she could start pulling it back. “It’ll wear off in about ten minutes, if that, but your dad is almost at the warehouse, and this will only take a few minutes. You’ll be able to defend yourself, don’t worry.”

She hadn’t been at the house, Clemency realized. She had fought with six separate trained men, and the woman hadn’t been there.

“You’re a brawler. I was hoping the three of you wouldn’t get too beat up, but you gave my friends a good fight,” the woman continued. “Very sorry, but you’re going somewhere with top notch medical facilities, and people that just  _ love _ scrappy kids. You’ll be right as rain. It’s a good instinct, you know. Protectiveness. I’ll be sure to make sure your dad has the footage. You probably would have made him proud, putting Alfred through a glass table like that. Fifteen years old, and making two-hundred pound grown men look like punks. Good for you, honey, honestly.”

“My dad is going to get us, and if he  _ doesn’t, _ I’ll---”

“Baby, threats are cute, but I am not the one,” the woman interrupted, and something close to terror struck Clemency in the chest as cold blue eyes pinned her in place. In a moment, she looked devastatingly similar to her mother, and it made her heart pound in her chest, throat seizing up as she prepared for a cutting comment.

Something in the woman’s eyes softened, and she sat down in the chair across from them. A phone chirped in her small handbag, and she flipped the purse open to pull it out and check it.

“Looks like he got there early,” she commented with a wry smile. “He’s muted, but I’ll let you say your goodbyes, hm? Hello, Justitius. We can’t quite hear you right now, but you got here just in time. I thought it would be easier on the kiddos if we didn’t set up a visual on your end, my  _ dearest _ apologies. Clemency, say hello. The other two were screaming a bit too much, so sorry.”

“Father, we’re in a windowless, concrete room, underground, there’s pipes, Honor is hurt, Regal is okay!” Clemency shouted, and the woman tilted her head curiously.

“That’s not very specific,” she said wryly, still not moving from her spot, but Clemency charged on regardless.

“She’s middle aged, Caucasian, graying brown hair to her mid back, straight nose, blue eyes, oval face and non-prominent chin, beauty mark by her left ear, about five foot five, dressed in a blue polo and cuffed straight leg jeans, red handbag, mid weight, no visible tattoos---”

“Dear, he’s going to know who I am, anyways,” the woman said with a laugh. “I’ve had him in court for two years.”

It struck Clemency like a chill from her Boon as she realized the woman was entirely unbothered, and there was a muffled sob next to her from Regal, tears leaking out of his eyes as his wings tried to flutter against the press of the wall, twisting his wrists in the rope as Clemency tugged uselessly on her bonds.

“We’re drugged, I can’t access my Boon, it’s making me sick, it’s okay, I’m okay, I just can’t---”

“You really paid attention in class, didn’t you?” The woman asked in amusement as she uncrossed her legs. “In any case, Clemency. You’re going to be okay. You can stop panicking.”

“I’m not  _ panicking, _ I’m following the  _ steps, _ ” Clemency snapped, but she felt like she was going to cry. Class hadn’t prepared her for this.

“Can I explain to you what’s going to happen now?” The woman asked, and Clemency tugged again before coughing out a wet hack from the sudden flare of pain in her chest at the broken rib, her legs trying to move up to reflexively curl in on herself. Her breath came out in a rattle, and she resolved not to move too much. Her lung wasn’t punctured  _ yet, _ but there was a sharp, poking pain that was getting worrying. “Oh, hun, I’m sorry. Did you break a rib?”

_ “No,” _ Clemency gasped, even though it was  _ very _ much a yes, and Dad probably  _ knew. _ He always knew when she was mad and lying, despite almost never seeing her.

“Mhm. Well. Here’s what’s going to happen, anyways,” the woman continued, breezing right on by. “I’ve got a pretty unique Boon, you see. It’s a tethered displacement, for lack of a better phrase. You see, if I touch one person, at any time, I can displace someone who means quite a lot to them in another universe. There’s no getting them back, and the anchor, well. They can never go  _ to _ that world, the rules don’t allow it, but they are still tethered. So, instead, they can keep tabs. No dream is their own, ever again. Instead, when they go to sleep at night, what they see are snippets of the displaced person or people’s day. They’ll always be so close, and so far away.”

Socked feet made their way across the floor to Clemency, and the woman dropped into a crouch.

“There’s no fixing it,” she said softly. “Unfortunately for your dad, I’ve touched him before. When he was holding me back from my son’s dead body. After he killed him. Accidentally, of course.”

A hand reached up, and Clemency drew back, her head spinning as she tried to  _ understand, _ to comprehend what was going on, but the wall was hard and cold behind her back, and the woman’s fingers danced along Clemency’s face to tuck a lock of red hair behind her ear. Clemency twisted, trying to get away, and fear finally bubbled over as she tried to understand  _ what was happening. _

“I was never someone that could remember their dreams,” the woman murmured, her eyes sad and distant, not even noticing Clemency trying to get away from her. “The gods weren’t so kind, mm?”

A hand reached out to Regal, and Clemency’s fraying sanity snapped like a thread as she bucked up, trying to catch her with her hands tied.

_ “Don’t,” _ she sobbed, and the woman paused as Clemency hacked again, pain flaring in her chest. The hand hovered inches from Regal’s terrified face, and Clemency tried to contend with the pain everywhere, all over her body. “Don’t  _ touch him. _ ”

Dad could have stopped the men. Dad could have kept Regal safe. Regal shouldn’t look so scared.

Honor let out a muffled sob, and Clemency twisted again, hacking at the flare of pain, trying to get away so she could  _ fight, _ get them  _ home, _ because Dad wasn’t  _ here, _ this was being  _ streamed, _ and Guardians were supposed to be brave, but she was  _ terrified. _

“Dad, I can’t, I can’t get my hands,” she sobbed as she yanked again, scrabbled for a grip, tested the strength of the holding pipe, tried to call her Boon, but it ground to a halt as nausea rose  _ again, _ pushing up, almost threatening to spill out.

“Shhh, no tears, no tears,” the woman hissed, almost like a threat. “I hate tears.”

“We need to go  _ home, _ we can’t, I’m sorry about your son, I’m  _ so _ sorry, but we don’t… We don’t…”

“You’ll be loved,” the woman promised. “I made sure of it. I have the perfect place for you. But lessons need to be taught. I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I know Dad doesn’t apologize, but he’s  _ sorry, _ please, I know he is, he never says it, but he  _ is, _ ” Clemency gasped, because even though she hadn’t gotten along with her father since the day she was born, she had to  _ believe. _ There were good moments, there  _ were, _ and he never  _ said it, _ but he… He showed it. He bought her things, when he really lost his temper, over the top, to when she learned that the silent treatment was safest, because when she was silent, he didn’t have anything to make it worse. He taught her how to dance, once, to waltz and tango and foxtrot, when he could have just as easily given her a tutor. Sometimes, when she trained in the backyard, he actually came outside and told her she needed to eat, that she was pushing too hard, if she was going to go so overboard, wear gloves, because her fingers were blue. It didn’t happen  _ often, _ but he did, and when he caught her limping after she strained a tendon, a knee brace and painkillers made their way into her bedroom the next day.

He wasn’t  _ great, _ but he tried. He  _ did. _

Clemency was near tears. No, she might be crying. This was a terror like she had never known, deep in her bones, and from a young age, the children of Guardians were taught what to do when someone had a grudge match. They were told how to act, what to say, how to handle it, but it was only ever about  _ leverage. _ They were the fulcrum, not the weight to be lifted, and nothing, not training or school, had prepared her for this, because she was the  _ oldest. _ She had a year of training, and she had a little sister and a little brother to take care of, and hadn’t Dad said she couldn’t make it as a Guardian? Hadn’t he said it wasn’t the career for her, that she would never cut it, but if she wanted to be stubborn, so be it? Hadn’t that been what was said?

She wished he hadn’t been right. She  _ wished _ he had been so, so wrong, because if he was wrong, then she wouldn’t  _ be here _ right now. Regal would be  _ safe, _ Honor wouldn’t be bloodied and bruised, her side might be hurting, but they would be  _ okay. _ She had always known that being the best like her dad came with accidents. The statistical likelihood of people getting caught in the crossfire with the kind of arrests he made was just too high, no matter how careful he was, and she had  _ known _ that maybe sometimes he  _ should _ have been more careful, hated the kind of casualties he got, the fact that she never saw it really  _ affected _ him. It had hurt, a lot, and made her angry, made her want to be a little less like him, a little more like herself, but… but…

This woman was talking about  _ other worlds. _

“Oh, hun, you don’t have to make excuses for him,” the woman said sympathetically as she laid a tender, motherly hand on Clemency’s face, making her gut twist in discomfort, because Mother  _ never _ did that. “You’re just a baby.”

“I’m  _ not, _ I gotta… Dad, it’s gonna be okay, it’ll be okay, I just gotta---” Clemency yanked on the bonds on her wrists, twisting and tugging and trying as hard as she could, but the Boon was still just out of reach, just slightly intangible, and the woman reached again for Regal.

“It’s time to say goodbye. Do you want him to say it? I didn’t get to say goodbye to my boy, but I’m not  _ cruel. _ He can say goodbye.”

Clemency jerked, but the woman only reached behind Regal’s head to undo the tie, let him spit out the gag with a wet cough before she was undoing Honor’s gag.

“Father is going to  _ kill you, _ he won’t just--- he’s  _ coming, _ ” Honor spat out with the gag, the words thick and half garbled, and the woman hummed as Regal let out a quiet hitch of breath, a half sob that only just warbled on too harsh, twisting to get at Clemency for the cool of her body, his burning heat that marked him as the only Aiden child that mattered rising steadily.

“Clemency, I’m sorry,” Regal babbled, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. “You told me to run, I didn’t, I didn’t make it out the window---”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, shhh,” Clemency soothed, because she didn’t know what else to do, because she couldn’t  _ lose it, _ because maybe Dad wasn’t going to get here in time, because maybe, maybe if he cared enough, maybe he was frozen, trying to trace the live stream, trying to do  _ something. _

“Let’s let Dad say goodbye, huh?” The woman said, and clicked the mute button on her phone. “Hey, Dad! Say goodbye to the kiddos, will ya? You’ll see them tonight.”

The bluetooth beeped, and immediately their father’s voice broke off mid word, unintelligible, and Clemency barely managed to notice he must have been talking this whole time.

“Kids, I need you to  _ stay calm, _ they’re tracing the call, Clemency, you bled a lot, you need to  _ stay awake--- _ ”

Oh. Maybe that was why she felt so fuzzy, so sick. Head wounds, she registered, had lasting damage, causing damage to the brain, which could allow for emotional inconsistency, lower impulse control, memory issues, a whole lot of other things she couldn’t remember, and the crust on her face didn’t feel  _ great. _ Actually, it felt  _ bad. _ And… extensive.

“I just woke up,” she murmured, because that felt right to say, he should know. “It’s okay, Dad, it’s okay, we’re okay, we just… I need---”

“I’m so sorry,” Dad said, and his voice was tight, strangled, and Clemency froze.

She had never heard him say that.

Not once.

“... Dad?” Her voice cracked, and Regal  _ sobbed, _ picking up on the tone, the way his voice was half strangled, and…

He wasn’t going to get here in time.

“Dad, no, no, no,” Clemency gasped as she tried to pull again, tried to get up,  _ what _ was in this duffle?

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, and it sounded like he was  _ horrified, _ and there was never much emotion in his voice, but somehow, it was like a strike to the gut, wrenching, twisting, a knife in her spleen.

“What do you mean,  _ you’re sorry? _ ” Honor asked in a gasp, her voice pitching into hysterical. “Clemency, what does that mean?”

“No, no, no, Dad,  _ please, _ you’re  _ Justitius, _ Dad, you can’t---” He couldn’t be  _ late. _ Dad was always late coming  _ home, _ but he was never late on the job, he always got there  _ right on time, _ and weren’t they kidnapped kids? This was what he  _ did. _ They were work right now, right? They had to be. “Dad, please, don’t  _ leave us, _ you’re almost here, aren’t you? You’re nearly here, you have to be,  _ Dad--- _ ”

“I’m not,” he said, his voice catching. “I’m not almost there. I’m sorry.”

“Good old Dad, just a little too late again,” the woman said, and hit the mute button as he tried to say something, and Clemency jerked, coughed, and something sent pain flaring up her chest, something  _ gave way, _ and another surprised cough had blood coming out of her lips.

That wasn’t good.

“Let’s get you medical attention, yeah, sweetie?” The woman said, and Clemency let out a strangled scream as five pale fingers reached for her face, and---


	2. Chapter 2

Generally, when the temperature drops by about twenty degrees out of nowhere on a hot summer day in a matter of seconds, you expect  _ jetii _ bullshit. Or an attack from unknown enemies.

So when the temperature dropped in the middle of the training yard of the  _ Haat Mando’ade _ camp, just about every spar stopped dead in its tracks, and every Mandalorian on site grabbed their weapons and opened radio chatter as Jaster straightened up from fixing Jango’s still-loose pauldron.

“Do we have incoming?” He barked, because they were in between contracts right now, but Death Watch was still out there, and always a threat, and who  _ knew _ what kind of weapon they got their hands on now.

“Nothing on scopes,  _ ‘Alor! _ ” Sylpha replied over the internal comms, and he reached for his blaster, resisting the urge to push Jango behind him, because Jango was three months away from starting his  _ verd’goten _ and could not be babied anymore.

“Radar?” He asked, and there was a pause.

“Nothing, but there’s an atmospheric shift in the middle of the training ya---”

Sylpha was cut off abruptly, and the temperature dropped even  _ faster, _ and there was scarcely time to take a breath before there was a peculiar  _ crack. _ Some unseen force left Mandalorians stumbling, and suddenly, in the very center of the yard, three figures appeared.

Humanoid children, Jaster registered first. Blazing red hair in tousled waves, all seemingly related, but the tiniest of them, he couldn’t be more than  _ six, _ had an impressive set of golden wings on his back, and a bag dropped to the ground as the three of them stumbled.

The second thing he registered in a wave of shock and horror was that the two larger ones, girls, he thought, were  _ injured. _ The tallest had dried blood all down her face, a gaping gash still sluggishly bleeding at her hairline, the skin he could see through it all was swollen, there were rope burns on her wrists, and the other had a split lip and black eye, deeply red indents at the corners of her lips like someone had  _ gagged her, _ and all of them had  _ rope burns _ on their blasted  _ wrists, _ who in the  _ hells--- _

The oldest, he thought, looked around the compound, took in all of the weaponry, the drawn blasters, and her eyes widened before he could get a chance to tell the  _ Mando’ade _ to stand down. In a swift movement, she shoved the other two behind her, moving with the reflexes of a damned  _ nexu _ as she drew the little one to her chest and just  _ dropped. _

Never in Jaster’s  _ life _ had he witnessed that he witnessed in that instant. The temperature plummeted out of seemingly  _ nowhere, _ and within milliseconds winds of snow and ice wrapped around the three of them, knocking the nearest  _ Mando’ade _ off their feet as a dome of snow formed over the three  _ ade _ that had just  _ teleported into the middle of a Mandalorian camp, _ and the winds shifted in seconds in a  _ blast, _ sending  _ verde _ head over heels, bowling over in shock and coming to their feet as the eldest staggered back up, barefoot and looking pale in a sickly way. Her bloody hand wrapped around the littlest one’s mangled wrist, and a cough hacked out of her mouth. Blood sprayed over freshly fallen snow on a summer day, and she simply…

Pitched over, hacking and coughing blood, still scrabbling to get up and  _ move. _

“Clem!” The other girl screamed, and the eldest kept hacking.

Broken rib, punctured lung, she needed medical attention  _ immediately, _ if she was coughing  _ that much, _ she was going to drown within minutes, and needed a drain.

“Get Regal and  _ run, _ ” the girl gasped out between coughs, still trying to rise, and Jute, nearest her, tried to approach, but a buffet of snowy wind caught him, flipping him up and over so he could smash face first into the ground.

“Stand down!” Jaster ordered, because the little one looked like he had been crying, and there were teartracks through the dried blood on the girl’s face. They were  _ terrified, _ and hurt, and the oldest clearly had no idea what was going on beyond there being blasters and armor everywhere.

Suspicious eyes flitted over to him, and the girl held up a hand marred with a horrific, old burn scar mottling her fingers and palm, up her wrist and creeping into her forearm.

“Stop,” she hissed, hunted eyes flicking here and there as she took in her odds, and Jaster made a show of holstering his blasters and holding up his hands as the  _ verde _ paused, not sure what to do.

More blood spilled out of her lips, and she drew her knees up protectively, clutching at her ribs, and Jaster backed up slightly, wary.

“Where’d you pop up from?” He asked, his eyes searching for cloaking devices or some kind of tech, but there was nothing. Just three confused and terrified  _ ade _ in the middle of his camp.

The other girl’s lower lip wobbled, and three things happened all at once. The eldest opened her mouth to reply, and then promptly pitched over, out cold, which triggered a chain reaction. The middle one, the other girl, burst into confused and terrified tears, and the little boy the eldest had called Regal seemed to realize that it was time to  _ panic, _ and ah.

That was where the burn scar was from, apparently, because there was a tiny  _ ade _ in the middle of Jaster’s camp, and he was  _ on fire, _ just  _ completely on fire,  _ and his sister, possibly, seemed to think this was normal enough to not panic over as she dropped to the eldest’s side and shook her.

_ “Clemency, wake up!” _

This was a very normal day.

* * *

"Your  _ ori'vod _ is in a pretty bad way," Veli was saying to the second oldest child, sitting there with her shoulders hunched and a haunted look on her face. "We're going to have to do surgery. Are you okay with that?"

"... You won't hurt her?" The girl asked, suspicious, darting eyes flicking between her intubated  _ ori'vod _ and Veli as she crouched in front of the girl.

"No. We have to open her up to set the bone right and drain the blood, but we won't hurt her. She may need a bacta tank, but she'll be alright," Veli promised as the girl looked between her  _ ori'vod _ and the tent flap. She seemed to weigh her options, clench and release her biceps, before she nodded once, jerkily, looking like she was going to start crying all over again.

"It's fine," she said, and her voice cracked.

"Okay. We can't have you two in here for that, so why don't you go ahead and tell  _ 'Alor _ what happened and how you got here? Maybe get some food in your  _ kih'vod? _ " Veli, bless her, prompted, and the girl nodded again before coming to her feet and bravely facing Jaster with puffy eyes, bacta still shining on her face and wrists. The little one stood on impulse, reaching to hook fingers in her belt loop as he pressed close, birdlike and delicate, and the girl bravely marched towards Jaster, looking like she was ready to pick a fight.

"You're  _ 'Alor? _ " She demanded, all vulnerability forgotten as she braced herself for a fight, and Jaster tilted his head.

"That's a title. You can call me Jaster," he said, and pushed off the tent pole. "What can I call you?"

"... Honor," she said suspiciously, and Jaster felt like this was a theme. Clemency, Honor, Regal. Pretty pretentious, if you asked him, but no one had.

"So you're Regal?" He asked the boy directly, and the kid slid behind his  _ vod _ even more, shy and reclusive. Alright. Work up to that.

"He doesn't like men," Honor said, like that explained anything, and yet painted a bit better picture for Jaster nonetheless. "And he hasn't eaten in five hours, and needs to eat every two hours, minimum. Please."

"Is that the same for all of you? A high metabolism?" Jaster asked, because Veli's scans of Clemency had come up  _ weird, _ setting her at a far lower body temperature than her  _ vode, _ with a weirdly developed portion of her brain that did not match either sibling, but  _ did _ match species with nervous system based heat sensing capabilities.

"No," Honor said, like he was stupid. "Regal has a calorie burning Boon. Why would we burn a lot of calories?"

"Ah. I see," Jaster said, despite the fact that he did  _ not, _ and also did not understand how the rope burns on Regal's wrists had just disappeared once the fire went out. Clearly self regeneration, of course, but that didn't explain why Clemency, presumably the same species, had  _ not _ healed, and neither had Honor.

In due time. Right now, though, he had some  _ ade _ to take care of.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He asked as he led the way to the mess, and Honor hesitated.

"There was a woman mad at Dad," she said, and Jaster's stomach sunk a little lower. "Dad… she said her son died on Dad's watch, possibly was Dad's fault, and said she had a universe displacement Boon. So she displaced us to get back at Dad, and now Dad can't reach us, but we're somehow tethered to him and he can dream of us? I don't know, I've seen a lot of  _ weird _ Boons, but that's the weirdest yet, and I'm not sure how well it could be  _ proven _ scientifically, since there's no way to confirm on the other end  _ if _ we got here or not, just dreams, which obviously are  _ not _ going to hold up as evidence. But, I mean, we're not  _ dead, _ and all of you are… here and asking weird questions, like you don't even  _ know _ what… Oh."

The girl trailed off and blinked, and Jaster, had the whole revelation not been so immensely horrifying, would have been enamored at the rambling and jackrabbiting thought process.

"Oh. We're not dead and she sent us somewhere without Boons," she said, like this was a revelation, and something dangerously close to fondness twisted in Jaster's chest as the little one pressed even closer to her back like he was trying to steal her warmth.

“What is a Boon?” He asked, because he tended to read quite a lot, and he had never heard of Force sensitivity or whatever all of  _ that _ was appearing as some kind of… elemental power?

“A gift,” Honor replied as she twisted her fingers. “From the gods. Some people say. Others call them Evos, or just… I mean, if you’re going to be  _ pc, _ it’s just ability. But everyone has one.”

Her eyes flicked down to her younger sibling, and he crowded up on her back, shy and reclusive, trying to put her body between him and Jaster. Something hurt a little, but the kids were clearly scared as hell, uncertain and missing their footing, and… still barefoot. The bag that had come with them had changes of clothes for all of them, shoes, socks, but in all of the chaos, they had forgotten to cover their feet, and Jaster needed to correct that before someone got a cut foot.

“So, it’s an ability,” he said, and she nodded hesitantly. “Your  _ kih’vod _ lights on fire, your  _ ori’vod _ blasts everyone in a square radius with snow, and you…”

An awkward silence stretched out as color rose in her cheeks, and she looked away.

“Perfect balance,” she muttered miserably, and Jaster blinked as he looked between her  _ kih’vod _ and her. They were clearly biologically related. Same brows, same noses, same vibrant red hair, same freckles, the only  _ real _ difference that her eyes were blue and his were honey brown. And the wings. The wings were… different.

Perfect balance.

“That’s useful,” he said, because wow, that had to be the seed for some inferiority complexes. Middle child, too. Poor kid.  _ Ade _ around that age were so sensitive, and he didn’t really think perfect balance was exactly not awe-inspiring, but that was a hell of a lot to compare yourself to.

“Honor,” Regal murmured and tugged on her belt loop. With a sigh, Honor bent over to listen to whatever he had to whisper in her ear, and then she dropped into a crouch so he could climb onto her back, wrap his arms around her neck and bury his face into her shoulder. The slight girl lifted him without a strain of effort, athletic muscles that pointed to some kind of martial art or gymnastic flexing, and she shifted him so he could dig his face into the nape of her neck and go boneless.

“He gets tired easy. Will Clem be okay?” She asked, like the kid wasn’t moments away from completely conking out despite being surrounded by admittedly terrifying, unfamiliar people, and Jaster tilted his head.

“Our medics are very good with combat injuries. We’re specialists in trauma surgery. She’ll be fine,” he answered honestly, because even with the biological differences, draining a lung and resetting a rib was something they did on a weekly basis, and with a dip in a bacta tank, she would be right as rain in half a day. Her anatomy was  _ basically _ Human, with a few slight differences the medics could puzzle over later, so realistically she would be walking around by tomorrow, with strict commands to take it easy.

“... She got really beat up,” Honor muttered, and color rose even higher in her cheeks. “I… She’s been training, but I…”

He knew  _ that _ look, in the aftermath of a battle, and swirling thoughts of  _ other universes _ was banished from his mind as he realized Clemency had definitely put up a fight while her younger siblings were… lacking training, probably, and couldn’t be of much use.

“You’re alive,” he said, because that mattered. “That’s more than most people could say.”

“Because they didn’t want us  _ dead, _ ” Honor snapped, and it was then that Jango decided to make his entrance, storming around the corner of a tent, fully focused on Jaster as he stomped up and crossed his arms,  _ glaring _ at Honor like she had personally offended him.

“Where have you been?” Jango demanded, and Jaster raised a brow as Regal lifted his head and blinked at Jango sleepily.

“In the medical tent,” Jaster said peaceably. “Jango, this is Honor and Regal. This is my son, Jango.”

Jango crinkled up his nose in distaste as he looked them up and down, his eye twitching ever so slightly, and Jaster made a mental note to talk to him about his territorial issues. He  _ always _ got like this when new, unclaimed  _ ade _ made their way into the camps, and only settled when someone else claimed them. Damned kid. It was endearing, and mildly concerning.

“You’re supposed to be in command,” Jango snapped, and Jaster raised a brow.

“Watching my schedule?”

“Maris and Raze are waiting for you,” Jango sniffed with far too much prickly dignity, and Jaster thought about how Regal was putting Honor’s body between him and Jaster, how uncertain the little one was, and…

Well. He didn’t like men. Jango was small enough.

“Best not keep Maris waiting. Why don’t you get some food for our guests and help them get cleaned up while I go over contracts with them?” He prompted, and Jango  _ almost _ looked scandalized before Regal snuffled into Honor’s shoulder. Some of his prickly composure broke, showing genuine concern, and Jaster bit back a smile as Regal peeked out from over Honor’s shoulder to stare at Jango like he was some kind of curiosity in a museum. For a moment, the two boys stared at each other, suspicion and curiosity lurking in their gazes, before Jango’s eyes flicked to metallic golden and red feathers, slightly puffed up, the wind catching the wings on the little one’s back and sending them swaying.

“Fine,” he said, like it was a  _ chore, _ and spun on his heel. “Come on.”

Honor paused, looked between Jaster and Jango, looking a little lost, and Jaster gestured for her to follow him. A pause stretched out, and then she broke at the promise of food, drifting after Jango between the tents. Well. One thing dealt with. Hopefully Jango would have the sense to get them settled down in a tent for Regal to take a nap.

Hopefully. He was touch and go with context clues, sometimes.

  
In the meantime, Jaster had to go deal with  _ adults, _ and manda, he was not ready for that. It had been way too much of an exciting day to deal with  _ adults, _ dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on my bullshit aaayyyyy have a Jaster and a prickly Jango!!
> 
> This is just me trying to figure out my characters from a book I'm working on. If you wanna know where the kiddos are from, check out my tumblr psychicshr00m, I have a link to the book there, it's updated every two weeks, but it's currently still behind a paywall, so approach with caution.


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